


Forgiveness for Forgotten Sins

by The Hunters Angel (ToriCeratops)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post Soulless Sam, Season/Series 06, mention of offscreen dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/pseuds/The%20Hunters%20Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finally has his soul back but just keeps pressing for answers that Dean not only can't, but doesn't even want to give.  </p><p>There are some things that Dean can't help but give into though and he'll be forced to face his Sammy sooner or later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness for Forgotten Sins

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted some kind of brotherly make up session including horribly guilt ridden Sam after he got his soul back and just couldn't find what I was looking for.  
> So I wrote it.  
> Like ya do.

> _“You should have told me, Dean.”_

The rain pours in sheets over the windshield and poor Baby’s wipers can barely even keep up.  The drum of its impact overpowers everything - the engine, the music, Sam’s occasional attempts at conversation.  It all leaves Dean in a dangerously silent head space where all he has to keep himself company is, well, himself.  If there was a way for him to forget the last few days, hell, the last few months with Sam, he’d take it and not look back in a heartbeat.  But he can’t and every time Sam looks at him like that, like he’s keeping things from him again - which he entirely justifiably is - it tears him apart another few inches.  

One more hour.  One more hour and they will be at their next stop, ready to get out of this weather, out of the car and stretch his sore legs, one more hour until he can drown in half a bottle of scotch before crashing head first into some never before seen pillow and blacking out the world.

Its a short term fix but one he desperately needs.

> _“You know, I kind of feel like I got slipped the worst mickey of all time...and I woke up to find out that I had burnt the whole city down. And you can say it wasn't me, but...I'm the one with the zippo in my pocket, you know? So I'm not sure it's that cut and dry. And, look, I a-appreciate you trying to protect me. I really do. But I got to fix... What I got to fix. So I need to know what I did.”_

Dean is one of those things he had burned and fuck if he was going to actually admit that.  He just has to make sure to keep hiding the scorch marks for a little while longer.  It’s not like he CAN fix those things, or that Dean would even want him too.  He has to admit, it’s not a pain he had seen coming.  After reuniting with Sam, their first time falling back into the bedroom alone had been such a sweet relief that Dean had ignored everything that was different.  Sam had been to hell, of course he would be colder.  Dean was when he first got back, for a long fucking time.  

Then the second time, and the third time, when Sam wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say anything to him.  Dean couldn’t ignore things any longer.  

The night Sam got off and left Dean hanging had royally sucked.  

After they knew - really knew - what the problem was, that some where in hell Sam’s soul was still being flayed to pieces, the being currently being called Sam had dropped all pretense and started taking what he wanted - whenever he wanted it.

And of course, Dean could never tell his brother no.

> _“Sam, y-y-you got to understand that all that crap last year -- all of it -- none of it was you.”_
> 
> _“Let's be crystal clear, okay? It was me.”_

Those words hang over Dean’s heart like the black storm clouds over head and he does everything he can to try and convince Sam, to tell him he’s wrong and make him believe.  It can’t be true.

That is not what is lurking deep inside Sam.

It can’t be.

The finger bruises from around his wrists are mostly gone but Dean can still occasionally poke at the ones on his hips.  It’s not the visible marks that still hurt the most though when Sam insists that that was really him.

Once parked and out of the rain Dean skips the booze and dives face first into the bed, barely remembering to kick off his boots after the long drive they had had.   Sam disappears into the bathroom and Dean tries to sleep, expecting the exhaustion to catch up with him.  Turns out skipping the alcohol may have been a bad idea.  That, or leaving his jeans on.  And his belt.  Dean only gets half drowsy before he’s entirely too uncomfortable and thinks about flipping over - thinks about it.  It would take effort and despite the belt buckle poking him maybe he’s not THAT uncomfortable.  When the bed dips with the weight of Sam’s heavy body kneeling onto it Dean flinches immediately, trying to bury himself deeper into the mattress.  He feels like girl for it and if he were actually face to face with Sam would already be smirking to hide it.

“Hey, Dean.  It’s okay, it’s just me.”  Sam’s voice is soft, the kind of soft he gets only when the doors are locked and the sun is gone - words pouring across Dean’s skin like warm water whatever they happen to be.  Dean’s pretty sure the man could recite a nursery rhyme in that tone of voice and it would still do horrible things to him.  

Something in Dean’s gut is still hesitant.  Either he’s just not wanting to think about things himself or worried that anything Sam wants to do will trigger horrible memories for his little brother.

Probably a little of both.

Okay, a lot of both.

“Sam, I’m not really in the mood to talk.”  Dean mumbles into the pillow, burying his face.  

And that’s when those damn strong, massive hands find the small of his back, fingers spread wide and thumb running up his spine in a slow massaging motion, perfect even through the two layers of shirts he’s still wearing.  “I don’t want to talk Dean.”  He can practically hear the smirk that follows.  “Well, not a whole hell of a lot anyway.”

That’s what they do - not talk.  They have been ‘not talking’ through things for so long that Dean can’t remember when they figured out that that got them actually on speaking terms again almost as fast as just punching it out.  It doesn’t matter though.  He hears the honesty and something else just shy of desperation in Sam and twists beneath his hands to look up at him.  Light from the cracked bathroom door is all that illuminates the room, casting a soft glow over Sam’s face, highlighting all of his favorite features, a gentle - somewhat timid - smile just hitting his eyes.  

Here, in the openness of the dim light, is where Dean finally relaxes.  Without words or actions or deeds, with no other gestures or movements, he knows this is Sam, his Sam, his baby brother who he loves so much.  It’s in his eyes and his deceptively shy grin and he can’t believe he never noticed it before.  Sam moves forward and Dean reflexively meets him half way, pressing their lips together in a firm collision of need and want.  

Everything that floods through Dean from their kiss is all he’d thought he had lost after their last night, before Detroit, what feels like decades ago.  He’s warm and he’s powerful but so incredibly gentle.  There’s such a strength in Sam and Dean can feel it, right behind the softness in his lips and the way his fingers flutter just across his skin, Sam’s heart - his soul - the only thing that holds it all back.  

Dean knows this.  He knows it well.

Sam has pulled him forward and into his lap so that Dean straddles him, barely breaking a kiss to remove layers of plaid and cotton or hell, to even take a breath.  It’s familiar and comforting and the motions come back to him so easily - tilting his head for Sam to kiss at his neck, rolling his hips to grind down against his brothers lap, moaning when he obliges to Sam’s silent commands and arches his back so Sam can bite down his chest.  

“Fuck...”  He breathes out the curse when Sam’s teeth graze across his nipple, pleasure pooling in his gut.  “Fuck I missed you and your damn mouth.”

They adjust again, Sam leaning Dean back onto the bed and hovering over him, unfastening his belt and top of his pants so he can slip his hand between the denim of Dean’s jeans and the cotton of his boxers, so much closer and not close enough.  He nips at Dean’s ear and speaks dangerously low, “Let’s see just what this mouth you missed so much can do for you.”  

Groans and a half mumbled ‘yes’ is all Dean can manage as soon as Sam starts moving.  His hands pull at Dean’s jeans, tossing them aside before scratching carefully back up his sides.  Dean laughs, bright and happy when it tickles, memories of better days helping his happiness linger. (Perspective is a wonderful thing.) Sam doesn’t linger there though, instead he’s focused on kissing down Dean’s front, starting from his ear down the long, hard lines of his neck and across his collar, pressing the palm of his hand to Dean’s still trapped and achingly hard cock when Sam’s lips find Dean’s nipple again.  The shocks to his nerves have Dean’s hips lifting off the bed and firmer into Sam’s hand but his brother just grins and lifts away from it, smirking up at Dean with a playful grin.  Dean groans, pleading up at him, “Please, Sam.”

A flicker of sadness crosses Sam’s face for Dean knows not what but is gone as soon as Dean notices and replaced with a wink.  “You are the most impatient person I have ever met, Dean.”  When he circles his thumb over the now wet spot above the head of Dean’s cock, Dean throws his head back and has to bite back more curses. “I always take care of you, don’t I?  Just trust me.”

Something twists in Dean’s stomach.  All he can do is nod and focus on now, his Sam above him, the other... thing... that shared his bed - took his bed - long gone.  

“I trust you.”

“Good.”  And thank fucking... something.. that Sam’s lips are so damn distracting because in a matter of moments all Dean knows exists is the warmth of his mouth on Dean’s inner thighs, breath gliding along his skin and heating up every inch of his body, Sam mouthing at his balls through the fabric of Dean’s underwear - which is just more and more soaked with precome from every other lick of Sam’s tongue on just another more and more sensitive part of Dean’s flesh.  Somewhere deep in the spiral of want flowing through Dean’s head he contemplates attempting a hostile takeover - to have a power struggle over who is really going to be in charge and just get a fucking move on.  But then Sam’s fingers slip beneath the fabric and snake down around Dean’s balls, warm flesh against warm flesh and any thought of Dean being able to take over anything flies out the damn window.

Not that he would have won anyway.

He never does.

Finally, after reducing Dean to nothing but a begging mess just from his hands and lips everywhere except his cock, needlessly proving just what a damn tease he is, Sam removes Dean’s boxers in a quick and needy movement.

That’s when it all goes to hell.

Everything stops and about the time that Dean feels a cold gust of air on his skin he realizes something is wrong.  

And then he remembers.

The bruises.

“Dean?”  Sam is shaky, doing everything he can to hold back the concern and worry.

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.  He knows exactly what Sam is looking at.  A lot of the evidence of the last couple of months has faded into a bad memory, but the last set of marks, the bruises right there at his hips, the ones that had hurt right to his core more than any of the rest, still lingered.  

“Dean, these bruises are from fingers.”  A look of horror crosses Sam’s face.  “these are from my fingers aren’t they?”  The horror is replaced with fury, Sam’s chest rising and falling fast while his lips are pressed tightly together.  Dean’s heart tightens in his own chest, sitting up immediately to reach for Sam, to cup his face and shake his head.

“No.  No Sam, they’re not from...”

“Don’t feed me that crap Dean!”  Sam’s lips are trembling and it just makes Dean ache so much more for him.  “What did I...” his fingers ghost over the fading bruises again and Dean can see the tears welling up in his eyes.  “What the hell did I do to you?”  When Sam tries to snatch his hand away Dean catches it and holds him tight.  

“You’re not going to burn me, Sam!  Zippo’s all gone!”  Dean’s trembling now too, twisting around until he’s on his knees again, facing Sam and holding onto his hand for dear life.  He wonders how much he can say, how he can dance around this and still get through to him, because he has to.  He has to get through, somehow.  “You listen to me and you listen good.  Whatever was taking up space and running your body, using your memories.  That wasn’t you.”

“Dean,”  Sam tugs at Dean’s grip but Dean just holds on tighter.

“No.  I know you, Sam.  I know every single damn thing about you.  Hell, I know things about you that you probably don’t even know about yourself.”  Sam is still trembling and Dean takes a timid motion forward, reaching his other hand out carefully to rest on the curve of Sam’s neck.  “I know what you want out of life, what scares you, what you dream about, every single one of your damn bitch faces and what’s really going through your head with them.”  Dean shifts closer, Sam’s lips pressed tighter and tighter together as he fights back tears.  Dean’s having a hard time of it himself if he’s honest.  “I know how you kiss.”  That’s when Sam drops and shakes his head, letting Dean close the gap between them so they’re in their earlier position, Dean straddling Sam’s lap though now both are completely lacking in any clothing.

Every inch of Dean is screaming at him to stop this, to shut up, to not let go this much.  It’s dangerous, especially so soon, not just for Sam but for himself, to be so open and raw.  “I know how you fuck me when you’re angry.”  The grip wrapped around Sam’s hand finally moves, shifting so that Sam and Dean’s fingers are entwined.  When Sam looks up and catches Dean’s gaze his heart flips in his chest from how much guilt and self depreciation is coming from his little brother.  “And I know how you take care of me through it anyway, and how you kiss me when you’re worried, or when you’re scared.  I know what it feels like to be sitting on the edge of oblivion and know that all we’ve got is each other and how it felt to hold on so desperately to that for what we both thought would be the last time.”

He knows, when he watches Sam’s gaze soften just so and his lips slowly part, that they’re remembering the same night.  Before Detroit, before Sam said yes, when they took what deep down they both knew would probably be their last break from the living hell of their reality and just... forgot for a few hours.  Moving in and through each other, taking their time, dragging every sensation out.  Lips and fingers had moved across every inch, retracing what they had long ago memorized, wordlessly wrapped so intimately together that nothing could break them apart until the sun rose and those damn rays of light peeled them from one another.

“So when i say that wasn’t you, you gotta believe me, because this,”  he kisses Sam again, slowly, letting their lips melt together and linger before breaking away to lean into his brothers hand where he has reached up to cup Dean’s face.  “This is you.  This is my Sammy.”

And there it is, the name that breaks his brother.  Sam collapses against Dean, head on his shoulders and arms thrown around him.  Dean can feel the tiny drops of moisture from Sam’s tears hit his own skin and all he can do is wrap himself around his brother in turn, kissing him repeatedly into his hair.  “I’ve got you Sammy.”  

Sam lifts his head and they’re kissing again moving in and with each other in such practiced and well loved movements that it comes so naturally.  This conversation isn’t over, not entirely.  But for now, Dean considers this a battle won - a small victory that he will cling to as long as he can.  

For an immeasurable span of time, they get lost in each others lips and beneath caring hands.  Slowly they return to some of the needs and wants of earlier, but its different now, less frantic and more tender.

“I still want you.”

“Dean, you shouldn’t...”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I missed you.  I need you Sammy, want you more than I can say.”

Sam looks torn, biting his lip while he obviously debates what he needs to do now - what he should do versus what he so desperately wants.  To help his case, Dean cheats and rolls his body against Sam’s, his cock half hard again and pressed firmly between himself and Sam’s stomach.

It’s like a light switch is flipped.  Sam holds tightly to Dean, coming together again for another kiss, harder, needier this time.

At some point while Dean’s mind is fogged over by his brothers kiss, Sam had mustered enough clarity to grab the small bottle he brought with him to Dean’s bed.  When two warm and slick fingers slide along his ass the first thing he does is jerk - which is a perfectly normal response thank you very much, Sam.  He says as much in a pointed glance to Sam’s worried, furrowed eyebrows.

“You’ll tell me to stop if you need to.”  It’s not a question or a request, but a demand and Dean can’t and won’t say anything but yes.

He nods.  “I promise.”  Dean takes Sam’s lips in his again just as he rocks back against his fingers.  Dean knows the best thing to do is to keep breathing through the initial intrusion but he can’t fight the urge to hold his breath, breaking the kiss, head tilted back and mouth slack at just how slow and tender Sam is being with him.  With every movement of his finger Sam kisses another inch down Dean’s neck, lips surprisingly soft and gliding feather light down his skin.  Sam starts talking against and between the kisses and the motion of his hand dragging out the slow glide of his finger in and out.  

“When this job is over, we are taking a few days off.  We are gonna go to a ball game, catch a movie or two.  Maybe I will blow you in the back of the theatre where we might get caught.”

Dean trembles over Sam, drinking in his words and nodding along.  Sam adds a second finger, just as slow as the first and Dean, while holding onto his brothers shoulder with one hand, reaches between them with the other, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s cock, just enough pressure to feel the silkiness of his taut skin.  Sam’s moans at his touch just make Dean more excited and Sam’s words become breathy.  “Rub your cock until you’re hard and slouch down to my knees to take you in my mouth.  I’ll take my time too, tease you and try to make you moan at the quietest point in the movie.  Fuck Dean, just thinking about it....”  Sam buries his face in Dean’s neck taking in a deep breath followed by a low and needy moan.  “You’ve always tasted so damn good, and when you cum in my mouth...”  Sam’s movements stutter, the easy rhythm as he fucks into Dean’s broken and his cock pulsing hard in Dean’s hand, premcome sliding over his length.  “Dean...”  He takes a moment to press a hard kiss to Dean’s lips, both of them stopping everything else to drown in it for a moment, tasting one another, sucking at tongues and lips, grinning when Dean drags Sam’s bottom lip out between his teeth.  

“I’ll take you back to whatever hotel we find and make you cum in every single way I can think of.”  He tilts his head with the damn sly little smirk of his and adds, “And maybe some i haven’t thought of yet.”

He stops talking and drops his head back against Dean’s shoulder, biting into the the muscle to muffle his groan after Dean picks up his pace.  Quiet and shaking himself, Dean taunts him,  “What’s wrong Sammy?  Don’t stop now.”

Sam glares at him, “You want me to keep going?”  For the first time, Sam stretches his two fingers wide, twisting them around as he moves in and out of Dean, bending just enough to make him shout when waves of pleasure shoot through his body.  

“Yes! Of, fuck Sammy yes.  Don’t fucking stop.”  He adds a third finger, no longer bothering with the slow pace.  

“I’ll eat you out, make you cum from my tongue on your hole.  I’ll fuck you in the shower. Let you fuck me in the Impala.”

“You..”  Dean is trying really hard to make coherent words through all this.  “You know you don’t, fuck, you’re too big for that.”

Sam licks a hard line up Dean’s neck.  “We’ll make it work.  Hell, we’ll find a high school make out spot...”  He bites just at the soft spot behind Dean’s ear, making his brother groan and arch his back, shaking down to his toes.  “We’ll just fuck ON the Impala, how about that Dean?”

Dean isn’t sure if he manages a coherent answer or not but however he feels about all of it is trumped by just how damn close he is.  Its not just Sam’s fingers - though he is really fucking gifted with those - making his body tight his toes curl and his cock ache for release. It’s his fucking words.  His lips.  his hot breath on Dean’s skin.  Sam loves to talk like this, to wax poetic about all the filthy things he wants to do to Dean in sometimes such vivid detail.  The thing is, Dean loves it, it drives him insane because he knows Sam is good for it, all of it, and has memories to pull from to imagine every sensation all over again.  

At the feeling of emptiness when Sam withdraws his fingers Dean makes a sound somewhere between a groan and needy whine.  But he gets with the program when Sam gently taps his ass, getting him to lift up and move forward a bit.  “You know what the best part will be, Dean?”  Dean’s breath hitches when the head of Sam’s cock barely breeches him, already stretching him wider than his fingers ever could.  He forces himself to keep his eyes open, to watch Sammy as he slowly lowers himself, the way his face contorts in pleasure and he fights so hard to keep talking.  “We’ll wake in the... in the morning with nowhere to go... and I can fuck you before ever  fuck, leave the... the bed.  So slow  and... FUCK!  Dean!”  It’s through sheer force of will that Dean hasn’t lost himself to the fullness, stretch, and pleasure of Sam and still has his eyes locked on his brother.  As his hips make contact with Sam’s they are both trembling from head to toe.  Sam’s arms are wrapped around him, hands clinging to Dean’s shoulder while he bites his lip, leans forward and presses their foreheads together.  It all makes Dean feel so warm, so protected and complete when they’re wrapped so completely up in one another nothing could ever break through.

When Dean can breathe again he presses a soft kiss to Sam’s lips.  “Love you, Sammy.”  he doesn’t give him a chance to respond and simply starts to move.

Every slow lift of his body and roll of his hips sends a different sensation through both of them.  Hands and lips and teeth are everywhere - leaving scratch marks on backs and bite marks on necks.  It is impossible to tell where one Winchester ends and the other begins.  Their skin boils under the heat from the friction of their bodies, sweat the only thing between them.  When they move faster and faster Dean’s gut starts to twist, getting tighter with each sharp thrust against his insides like he will snap at any moment but can’t quite cut through the cord.  He hears his name, over and over again, Sam’s grip growing tighter on his skin and the cord just snaps, rebounding through his body while he cums between them.  He doesn’t stop moving, the repeated pressure of moving on Sam, over and over, drawing out his orgasm until Sam puts a vice grip on his shoulders, snapping his body down onto Sam and holding Dean in place while he shudders, buried deep and cumming himself.  More than his own orgasm, more than the kisses or his own physical needs and pleasures, Dean had wanted this - to watch Sam as he falls apart, to feel the warmth of his skin, chest to chest while he empties himself inside of Dean, his brothers name a reverent psalm on his lips.  

As their bodies still and their breathing becomes easier the air in the room cools their sweat soaked skin.  Dean would start to tremble if it weren’t for Sam’s continual press of lips to his neck and chin and his hands still making trails along the lines of Dean’s back.  Sam mumbles into Dean’s shoulder - words that Dean couldn’t make out if he tried.

“Come again?”

Sam looks up with a sad smile and yet still rolling his eyes.  “Maybe later Dean, but I said I’m sorry, for everything that happened.  I’ll make it up to you somehow.  I promise.”

And to that, Dean has no answer.  He just shakes his head with his lips pressed firmly together and Sam gets the message.  His brother sighs and buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck again where they stay wrapped up together for a long time, arms holding one another close, Dean unsure of whether or not he’ll ever be able to let go again.

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Derogatory Remarks?  
> Leave em below!  
> And as always, check the [tumblr!](http://the-hunters-angel.tumblr.com)


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